Page 27

What remained was a face carved in cruelty and wonder. Beauty honed to a blade, impossible in its symmetry and merciless in its perfection. High cheekbones gleamed, catching every shadow as though the heavens themselves still tried to claim him. His mouth was sculpted into lines too precise to hold kindness, lips that seemed made for commandments. And his eyes—pale, glacial, and merciless—descended upon me like a verdict.

My breath fled my body, stolen, and my pulse stuttered, suspended in the cold snare of that gaze.

Warmth then pressed against me, steady and real. Remiel stood at my side, his presence a quiet anchor. The heat of his body drove back the frost the vampire overlord had cast over me, loosening the vise around my chest. I turned toward it, toward him, and only then did I remember how to breathe.

Valden watched us as we approached, his face frozen in a mask of indifference. His smile, when it finally revealed itself, showed just the tips of his fangs. “Miss Vex,” he said, his voice deep. “I had hoped the jesters wouldn’t lose you in the corridors.”

When his eyes met mine, they held no surprise, just cold amusement. His gaze lingered on the mask covering half my face for a long, deliberate moment, like a sculptor admiring a rough stone beginning to take their desired shape.

He then glanced past me, his gaze settling on Remiel with dismissive disdain. His lips curled. “Ah… I see you’ve gained a bodyguard. Am I truly so frightening, Miss Vex?”

He raised the goblet in a mock toast, and I threw Remiel a glare—a silent command to remain an observer, not a participant. The angel didn’t blink, his expression unreadable.

Valden took an unhurried sip of whatever dark promise sloshed inside that crystal goblet and then lowered it with a sigh so theatrical that I almost rolled my eyes. “Well,” he mused, stepping forward with effortless, predatory grace, “two is better than one, I suppose. For certain…negotiations.” He stepped closer, and his coat flared behind him like a living shadow, the gold embroidery catching and killing the faint starlight in turns. “I need your help.” His voice was now stripped of its earlier mockery, smooth and dangerously sincere. “I need you to help me find my child.”

I raised a brow, my surprise genuine. “You brought me all this way, through all this…performance, to play a detective?”

“It is a special case.” His gloved fingers lightly tapped the rim of the goblet he held. “Lysanthe. She’s gone missing.”

The name stopped me cold.

And the mask against my skin tightened and pulsed—a sharp, hot throb against my cheekbone. It wasn’t just a reaction; it was a resonance, as if it recognized her name.

My chest constricted not with dread but with something sharper, something that ached. Sadder.

A face bloomed in my mind—those luminous mischievous eyes, unruly ink-black curls that always escaped their bonds, a laugh that cracked through silence like spilled moonlight. She was wild, clever, and always, always too curious for her own good. And beneath it all, she was fiercely loyal.

Lysanthe wasn’t just some pretty ornament in Valden’s court. She was my friend. The only true one I’d ever had in all my long weary existence.

“I…” I faltered, the carefully constructed walls around my heart cracking. “She’s…missing?”

He nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on mine. “Three weeks now. No message. No trail. And, most tellingly, no corpse.” He took another slow drink from the dark goblet, but the almost imperceptible tension in his jaw betrayed the calmness his posture tried to sell. “Which means she isn’t dead. Not yet at least. I hope. She’s just…unreachable.”

My shadows stirred at the edges of my spine, a familiar, restless twitching. It felt like they wanted to speak, but something was preventing them from doing so.

“You should’ve led with that,” I said, taking a deeper breath in.

“If I had,” he said, his voice carrying only the brutal weight of knowing the answer, “would you have come any sooner, Cassia?”

“Of course I would’ve! She is my friend!” My eyes narrowed. “Tell me everything. And Valden”—my voice hardened—“don’t mistake my concern for Lysanthe as trust in you. I still don’t even know who you are. And I suspect you are the one who pulled her to Prague.”

Valden smiled then. “Yes, that is true, Miss Vex,” he purred, his eyes glinting, as he took another step toward me, into my personal space.

Remiel’s entire body tensed. “Get away from her, Coldblood,” he snapped, his protective instincts, however unwelcome, flaring.

I threw my hands up in exasperation. “What is your deal? Both of you! Did you two share a lover in a past life and forget to tell me?”

Valden chuckled, a theatrical sound, and stepped away. He tilted his head toward Remiel in a gesture of exaggerated, mocking politeness. “Would you do the honor, Guardian? Or shall I indulge Miss Vex with the rather…colorful tale of our shared acquaintance?”

Remiel’s voice was a low growl. “Prick.”

His smile evaporated instantly, his face now stone. Cold. Deadly. “Watch it, Hound Dog,” he said, his voice sharpening.

The gold in Remiel’s eyes flared, but he didn’t move.

The rooftop pulsed with a tension so thick it felt like a living thing, like the broken stone saints around us might lift their ruined arms and join the impending fight.

I looked between the two men, my arms folded across my chest. “Okay,” I said dryly, my voice slicing the silence. “Someone better talk before I throw one of you off this damn cathedral.”